The Hard Way
by Laura Dugan
Summary: Brennan has come down with a very typical problem: the flu. But how will this effect our less than typical anthropologist and her relationship with Booth?
1. Part I

**Notes:** This is just for fun. There's no serious case, no serious anything, really... at least at this point. I hope you enjoy it and will click that Feedback button. Feedback brings me chocolates and rainbows. And it just might encourage me to write faster and finish the story. Visit me at lauradugan(dot)com.

Part 1

Miserable.

No, miserable wasn't a strong enough word.

Decrepit?

Nah, too death-like.

Wretched. Yeah. That's it.

Temperance Brennan felt wretched.

Temperance Brennan never got sick.

Well, used to never get sick. And now she was sitting here, feeling _wretched_ with the flu. "I don't need a flu shot," she remembered saying. "I never get sick."

Ha.

She rolled her eyes toward whatever gods may or may not exist and sighed heavily, wrapping her blanket tighter around her.

She was covered by a quilt, beneath which sat an electric blanket, adding an extra level of warmth, but she still couldn't relieve herself of the chills that ran through her body. "Come on, Tempe," she said to herself, "you have a PhD in anthropology. It's just the flu. Get over it."

But she couldn't. She was somewhere in between sleep and wakefulness when she heard a faint thumping noise. At first she thought it was the pounding of her brain against her skull until she heard a voice call out. "Bones?"

Shit.

What was he doing here?

"You in there?"

She pulled the blanket up over her head. "No," she croaked.

She heard a chuckle and then the rattle of the doorknob.

She grinned. At least it was locked. Unwanted visitors beware! Temperance Brennan allows no intruders!

A soft jingle, followed by metal on metal, then a click and a creak. The door was opening. The damn door was opening!

She sat bolt upright and turned, incredulous, toward the door.

"Booth! How the hell…"

"Angela," he said, holding up what she easily recognized as her spare key.

"How could she have possibly thought giving you free entrance to my home was a good thing?"

Booth looked hurt momentarily, but recovered quickly. "Not like I'm some crazy person out to get you, Bones." Then she noticed the bags in his other hand. "She said you were sick and in need of some TLC."

Brennan fell back to the couch with a grunt. "I'm not exactly up for company. Or TLC. Or anything but sleep."

"There's nothing wrong with letting someone take care of you once in a while. I know this may come as a shock to you, but you're not infallible." He strolled into the kitchen and set down the bags.

Brennan momentarily let the juvenile notion of giving him the finger flit through her head, but then she decided it was too much effort for too little reward.

As Booth came over to her side, she dug herself further into the couch. "Go away."

"Now is that any way to treat your best friend who drove all the way across town just to bring you chicken soup and distracting movies? Movies that most normal people would have seen by age 10, but that you have yet to experience?"

She popped her head up from beneath her blanket, looking so much like a prairie dog – a red-faced, runny-nosed prairie dog – that Booth couldn't help but chuckle and await her retort.

"You're my best friend?" she asked, surprising him. He stalled by reaching for a tissue and handing it to her.

"Did I say that?" he finally responded, after she had completed some prolonged nose-blowing.

She nodded, handing him the used tissue.

"Thanks," he said wryly. "I better be at least your best friend if I'm touching your snotty tissues."

"At least?" she asked, and then sneezed. Booth handed her another tissue.

"Bestest friend?" Booth offered, with a grin.

"'Bestest' isn't a word." She lay back down on the couch, looking thoughtful. "I've never thought about best friends before. Actually, before you, my only friend was Angela." She paused, pulling the blanket up to her chin, closing her eyes. "God, that's pathetic."

"You don't believe in God, Bones," he replied gently.

"Semantics," she muttered.

"Besides," Booth continued, ignoring her response, "Angela and I are the two coolest people on the planet. You don't need any friends other than us."

This, at last, elicited a brief smile from her, though her eyes remained shut. "I don't know whether to classify that as egomaniacal or delusional behavior."

Booth grinned again as he reached out to feel her forehead. "Glad to hear you can still break out the six syllable words. Have you taken your temperature?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She opened her eyes and stared at him. "I'm hot, aren't I?"

"There are many ways I could respond to that question, Bones."

She glared. "My forehead is warm, correct?"

"Correct."

"Then I guess I have a fever. What's a degree or two among friends?"

"Best friends."

"Whatever. I'm tired. I'm going back to sleep now."

"Okay."

Brennan closed her eyes and settled again into the couch. Booth stood and walked into the kitchen. Brennan's opened her eyes as she heard Booth rummaging through bags, not opening the door. "That means you can leave now."

"Uh huh," he responded, absently.

"Booth, are you listening to me?"

He grabbed a glass and filled it with water and walked back to the couch. "Here, take these," he said, proffering her two pills.

"What is it?"

"Decongestant. With acetaminophen. For your fever." She looked dubious. "Just take them, Bones."

She palmed the pills, then popped them into her mouth, downing them with a large gulp of water. She sat perfectly still for about a minute, then Booth watched as her pink cheeks went pale.

"Uh oh," she groaned, as she threw back the covers and raced toward the bathroom.

Booth followed behind her, stumbling as she slammed the bathroom door in his face.

"Bones?" he asked, his hand perched on the doorknob.

For the next 30 seconds, Booth weighed his options. He wanted to comfort her, but Brennan didn't seem the type to want company while at her most vulnerable. He finally heard the toilet flush and decided to take a chance and enter.

She was leaning against the bathtub, looking sweaty and pale. She groaned, "Go away, Booth. I can say that in six other languages if you still don't understand."

He, again, ignored her. He grabbed a clean washcloth and dampened it with cool water. "It's okay to show weakness, you know," he said as he searched under her sink for mouthwash. "Everyone gets sick. And sometimes you can't fight it. You just have to give in. It's part of being human."

"I will have a response to that statement. But not now," she replied, curling on her side against the tub and closing her eyes.

"Here," he said gently.

One eye popped open. "Not more pills…"

"No. Just mouthwash."

"Thanks." She took the cup, swished, and spit, handing the cup back to Booth, which he took without comment.

He then helped her stand and guided her to her bedroom, making sure she was tucked securely in bed.

He left for a moment, returning with the cool cloth, which he pressed against her forehead. To her, it felt like heaven. Maybe it wasn't so bad being taken care of, after all.

"I know I'm fallible, Booth," she said softly. "I just don't like to admit it. I'm not used to being sick. And I'm certainly not used to someone taking care of me."

"Well, get used to it. I'm always here to take care of you, even if you don't think you need it. We're partners," he paused, smoothing out her blankets and adjusting the washcloth.

"Even after all of this," she asked, eyes refusing to meet his, "do you still think I'm hot?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, Bones. I still think you're hot."

She closed her eyes. "And you don't mean temperature hot, right?"

"Right."

She yawned deeply, her entire face scrunching with the effort. "I think you're hot, too," she responded, sleepily.

"You do?" Booth grinned. He liked "sick Bones" – he doubted she even realized what she was saying.

"Uh huh. In a non-temperature way."

"Thanks. Get some sleep."

She said nothing, her breathing beginning to deepen. She was asleep before long, and Booth took the quiet opportunity to just watch her. He wondered if he would ever truly understand this woman that so fascinated and frustrated him. He hoped not. He liked that she kept him guessing.

Brennan curled onto her side, and Booth leaned over her, gathering up the washcloth and setting it aside. He pulled the covers up to her chin and swept her hair, matted with sweat, off her forehead. "We're partners," he said softly, echoing his earlier statement. "Best friends."

He was near the door and almost missed her near-silent reply. "Forever."


	2. Part II

**Notes:** So I said I might add to this chapter, and I did. It's slightly more robust... and ever so slightly more angsty. I hope you let me know what you think.

Part II

Booth was laying on the couch watching a hockey game when Brennan emerged from her bedroom.

"I threw up," she said, as she shuffled into the room, half-mummified from the quilt wrapped tight around her.

"Again?" Booth asked, sitting up.

She fell heavily onto the couch next to him. "No. Before. I threw up in front of you."

"Actually, it was behind closed doors. Besides, it doesn't matter. We're BFFs."

"BFFs?"

"Best friends," he paused, then smirked. "Forever."

So he'd heard, Brennan thought, hoping Booth attributed the rising heat in her cheeks to the fever and not her embarrassment. Oh how she hated being sick. It made her weak and maudlin and far too uninhibited for her comfort. A memory came back to her in a flash and she groaned. Had she told Booth she thought he was hot? She closed her eyes and slid on to her side, forgetting about Booth's presence until her head landed in his lap.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, popping back up. "I'm a little out of it."

"I like it when you're out of it," Booth grinned, and she found herself staring at his dimples, his eyes, his lips. He was probably an amazing kisser. She could just tell. Although she failed miserably at interpreting the human race in general, the sexual nature of men she found attractive came to her easily. Through Booth's bravado and overt cockiness, she could see a sensitive lover.

Then her brain, usually so quick but now slowed by fever, made the connection. Cockiness. Sex. She began to giggle in a fourteen-year-old manner. Booth's brow furrowed as he wondered what she found so funny. Again, her brain caught up to her thoughts. She was thinking about having sex with Booth! Her giggling stopped as quickly as it began, and Booth's furrow increased.

"Bones…" he said, lightly tapping on her forehead. "Everything okay in there? Has the fever scrambled your brains?"

"Something like that." She curled up at the end of the couch, pulling her blanket tight around her.

"Do you want to try to eat something?" She shook her head fiercely." A drink, maybe?"

"No."

"And to think I thought you were stubborn when you were well." She glared, and he grinned, reaching out to feel her forehead. "You're still warm."

"Forget it. I'm not taking anything. I'll sweat it out." She sighed. "I understand the biology behind it, but I still think a fever and chills is an oxymoron."

Booth chuckled. "How about a nice warm bath?" She perked up instantly, for the first time since he arrived. "Wait here."

He walked to her bathroom and started the water, looking around for the froo froo bath stuff women always had. He found a half-dozen bottles under the sink and chuckled at how even Bones, who so rarely fit the female stereotype, met this one. He sniffed each, settling on the one that reminded him the most of his Bones. Gardenia, he read off the label. What the hell was a gardenia? He shrugged as he added the bath soap to the water. It suds instantly, throwing its scent into the air.

He went back into the living room, saying, with a deep bow, "Your bath awaits."

She grinned. "I could get used to this service. Interested in hiring yourself out?"

"This is a one-time only special," he smiled back. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Was he flirting with her? "Do all the Booth women get this treatment?" Was she flirting back?

He took her hand and helped her stand. "Only the chosen few."

Okay, maybe she needed a cold shower, not a hot bath. She felt herself blushing again, and searched for a response.

Fortunately Booth spoke up first. "Go take your bath before the tub overflows."

She dropped the blanket to the floor and headed down the hallway. She hesitated at the door. "Booth?" she called out.

"Yeah?" he responded, poking his head around the hall corner.

"Can we institute a privacy policy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens now, while I'm sick, doesn't leave this apartment.

"Sure, Bones. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

"I don't know what that means."

He fully rounded the corner and walked to her. "It means your secrets are safe with me. Always. Even when you're not sick."

She smiled. "Thanks." She turned back to the bathroom door, but Booth grabbed her hand. He drew her to him quickly and planted a kiss on her cheek. She felt herself grinning stupidly, and blamed the fever, the flu… Focus, Temperance, focus… "I'm going to have my bath now," she finally stammered.

"Right," Booth replied, turning down the hall, looking fairly flustered himself. It was only a kiss on the cheek, for heaven's sake.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Vegas?"

He grinned. "Vegas."

---------------

"Bones?" he asked, knocking on the bathroom door. He heard a yelp, then water sloshing. "You okay?"

"Yeah," came her muffled reply. "I fell asleep."

"I figured. It's been about an hour."

"Really? That would explain the cold water. I'm coming out."

"Okay."

He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a drink of water, and Bones some ginger ale.

Bones emerged a minute later, examining her hands. "I lost my sebum."

"Lost your what?" Booth asked, but quickly forgot his question as he erupted into laughter at the sight of her.

"What?" she asked, annoyed.

"I'm sorry, you just don't seem like the type to wear a fuzzy pink bathrobe with… are those monkeys?"

"Yes. I like monkeys." She paused. "I call Vegas on that remark. And on the pink bathrobe in general."

"Noted," Booth replied, choking back a chuckle.

"And what does that mean, anyway," she continued, unabated, "'seem like the type'? Because I'm an educated woman I can't wear a pink bathrobe with monkeys on it?"

"Petulant."

"What?"

"That's the word I've been looking for." She looked confused. "To describe you, your mood, when you're sick." She glared and Booth shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with being petulant – once in a while. Again, a sign of your humanity."

"Because, you know, I'm really a robot," she spat before dropping onto the couch.

Booth came over to her with a plate in one hand and a glass in the other. Brennan looked skeptical. "It's just toast and ginger ale. You can't get much more bland than plain toast. And ginger…"

"Is good for nausea. I know. I'm the robot scientist, remember?"

Booth sighed. "What did you say you lost?"

"What?"

"When you came out of the bathroom, you said you lost something."

"My sebum." Booth looked blank. Brennan held up her hands showing off her wrinkled fingers. "Sebum. It's the oily stuff on your skin that keeps it from absorbing water every time it comes into contact with it. If you stay in water too long, you lose your sebum and your skin wrinkles."

"You are a wealth of information," Booth replied.

"Look," she sat up, flushed, this time, with anger. "I may not be able to rattle off whoever starred in _Trek Wars_, but I can name every bone in the human body. Tell me which bit of information is going to be more helpful in the real world."

"First of all, it's _Star Trek_, or _Star Wars_, although there were Trek-based wars…" Booth stopped as he saw Brennan quickly lose interest. "Second of all," he continued, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead, "I meant that as a compliment."

She sat back on the couch. "Oh."

"We still friends?" Booth asked, giving her his best doe eyes.

"I suppose," she sighed.

"That's my girl." Booth put his arms around her shoulders and drew her near.

She started to pull away. "You'll get sick."

"You're worried about that now?" He pulled her back.

"Better late than never." Booth's laughter reverberated through her. She felt warmth spread over her body – a distinctly non-fever warmth – and she suddenly remembered how long it had been since she had been held by a man. Since Sully… too many months ago.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Booth asked as he lazily stroked her back.

"In a minute," she replied, snuggling in closer. Booth chuckled again.

"You know we can cuddle while we watch a movie."

"Is that what we're doing? Cuddling?"

"I'd say so, yes."

She was silent for a moment. "Do I have to call Vegas…"

"Let's just say we call Vegas on the next 24 hours. That way you won't have to worry."

"You're planning on staying that long?"

"If you don't kick me out by then."

"Which is a distinct possibility," Brennan commented, feeling the need to draw their conversation out of the deep, dark, scary 'feelings' area in which it seemed to be headed.

"So, a movie then? Maybe _Trek Wars_?" Brennan elbowed him in the gut. "Ow. Was that really necessary?"

"To me, yes."

"_Star Wars_ it is, then." Booth stood and grabbed the DVD out of his bag. "We'll start with the first. Well, the fourth, but it was really the first." Brennan looked mildly frightened. "Never mind. It's good. You'll like it. It's got guns. You like guns." Brennan just shook her head. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, I think I'm good. Although, a box of tissues within arm's reach might not be a bad idea."

Booth threw her the box of Kleenex and got himself a soda out of the fridge before sitting down. Brennan sat perched in the middle of the couch until Booth draped his arm across the back. Seeing that as invitation enough, she settled again into his side as the movie began to roll.

------------

Clicky the feedback! Clicky! Clicky!

(excuse me... too much caffeine this morning)


	3. Part III

**Notes:** YAY! New chapter! A couple of things... go back and re-read II. I added stuff to the end, and want to make sure you don't miss anything. Also, this chapter is much more angsty, which reflects my mood of late... I hope you like it. Lastly... I'm looking for a beta. Please e-mail me at lauradugan(at)gmail(dot)com if you're interested. Writing/editing experience preferred. Also, plot help would be nice. Thanks!

Part III

"I don't get it."

"Get what? The movie's been playing for all of two minutes."

"It says 'a long, long time ago,' but there is obviously interstellar travel. We don't have that yet, not like this."

"It also says, 'in a galaxy far, far away.'"

"But that doesn't matter."

"Sure it does. This galaxy could exist beyond our scope of understanding."

"So say this galaxy exists 'far, far away.' They had this technology a 'long, long time ago.' You don't think they would have found us by now?"

Booth pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "It's a movie. You're supposed to dispend belief, Scully."

"And they're humanoid," she rattled on, ignoring him. "Most of them, anyway, so I'm supposed to believe a race evolved naturally, in some galaxy not known to Earth, that looks exactly like us?" She paused. "Scully?"

"TV reference."

"I know. You called me that once before."

He looked surprised. "Yeah. I said we're like Scully and Mulder."

"I still don't know what that means."

"It was a show called _The X-Files_. They were partners at the FBI. She, Scully, was a scientist, a pathologist, and he was an agent with a belief in the supernatural."

"Do you believe in the supernatural?"

"Not like he did. But I am spiritual – and he was, too, in a way."

"So, we're like them because I'm a scientist and you're spiritual, and we're partners?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's a metaphor, Bones." He rubbed at his temples. "Plus, they had this whole… thing about them. They argued like we argue. Didn't often see things the same way. Especially not when they first started working together. But in the end, they were partners, and that's all that mattered."

Brennan looked thoughtful for a moment. "So what was the show _about_?"

Booth chuckled. "The X-Files. Cases that seemed to have a supernatural element to them that Scully rationalized scientifically and that Mulder explained," he hesitated, trying to find the right word, "other worldly." He paused, momentarily distracted by the action on the television. "That was the bulk of it, the cases, the 'myth,' but there was also a whole will-they-or-won't-they thing, too."

"Will they or won't they what?"

"Huh?" Booth turned to look at her. "Have sex. Fall in love."

Her face scrunched up. "You said we were like them." Booth could sense what was coming next. "Do we have that? The will-they-or-won't-they thing?"

He grinned and raised an eyebrow. "You tell me." She looked somewhere between frightened and flabbergasted, and Booth chuckled. "Let's put it this way: I'm pretty sure Angela and Hodgins have a running bet."

"That actually wouldn't surprise me. About the sex part, anyway. Angela's been trying to get me to sleep with you since we first met."

"I love Angela. She's a smart girl." He smiled broadly.

"Really, you should see a doctor. An ego that large cannot be healthy."

"Ever think I might have good cause to have such a healthy ego?" Booth asked, moving closer to her and putting on his sexiest smile.

Brennan felt a warmth grow deep down inside her, but she forced her expression to stay nonplussed. "Or your compensating for certain…" she flicked her eyes downward, "insecurities."

Booth's grin remained. "Can't say I've ever had any complaints."

Somehow, Brennan knew that was true. She cleared her throat. "So did they?"

"Did who what?"

"Did Sculder and Mully…"

"Mulder and Scully."

"Whatever. Did they have sex?"

"Not on screen, no, but it was assumed that they did. And it was pretty obvious that they had fallen in love." Brennan scoffed. Booth paused the movie. "What, are you saying you don't believe in love?"

Brennan shifted uncomfortably, suddenly needing to put some space between them. "I believe people can be attracted to each other, that their chemical signals match – it makes sense, those we consider most attractive tend to have the best genes to pass along. Strong bones, good musculature. Survival of the fittest."

Booth gaped. "I can't believe you just scientifically rationalized love. Where's the romance?"

"I, personally, have never been in love. Therefore, I don't really trust that it exists. I have no referent."

"That's sad. That's like saying you've never eaten chocolate, therefore it mustn't exist."

"No, one is tangible, one is not. It's a completely different scenario. I can prove chocolate. I can't prove love."

"Love is tangible, when you truly experience it."

She shrugged, wanting to be anywhere but in this conversation. "I loved my parents and they left." She wasn't exactly sure where that statement came from, but now it was out there, and she cringed inwardly as she awaited Booth's response.

"Just because your parents left, Bones, doesn't mean that everyone who loves you – or everyone you love – is going to leave."

"How did we get on this conversation anyway?" she deflected, reaching for the remote. "I thought we were supposed to be watching this highly improbable movie."

Booth took the remote from her hand and turned her to face him. "Did you love Sully?"

She shifted again, crossing her arms defensively. "No. I was attracted to him, yes. I suppose if I had loved him, I would have gone with him."

"He loved you?"

"He said so." Her voice remained neutral.

"He was important to you?"

"I wanted him in my life, if that's what you mean."

"Why didn't you…"

"I was afraid, okay? Is that what you want to hear? It's what Angela tells me every time I end a relationship. I'm afraid to fall in love." She stood and stormed off into the kitchen, muttering to herself. Booth followed close behind.

"Temperance…" he said, reaching for her.

"Don't," she said, slamming her hand against the counter and whirling around to face him. "I know. I'm cold, I'm heartless, I'm unfeeling. I've heard it all before. I don't know what I'm missing out on."

He let her seethe for a moment longer. "Feel better?" he asked, gently. Her eyes softened as they met his. "I don't think you're any of those things: cold, heartless, unfeeling. I know you're not. I do agree, though, that you're missing out on a lot of love and happiness. I know you're afraid, and I understand why you're afraid. I also know that you deserve to love and to be loved, and some day you'll realize that." He stopped, exhaling slowly, awaiting her response.

She seemed pale and tired and Booth wondered for a moment if she was going to be sick again. It took him a moment to realize that he couldn't recognize her expression. What was she thinking? Anger? Fear? She almost seemed surprised, and he found himself wondering if he was the first person to tell this remarkable woman – this beautiful, intelligent, funny woman – just what she was worth. He knew her past, knew what she had endured, but so often saw her strength he sometimes lost sight of the abandoned 15-year-old who had at once lost everything.

"Can we go back to the movie now?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Are you going to make snide comments every two minutes?" he grinned, allowing her to exit the conversation, but noting to himself that this conversation would be revisited later.

"I'm never snide," she smiled back.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Sure, Bones."

She headed back over to the couch, ready to forget reality and lose herself in fantasy, but Booth halted her by taking hold of her arm.

"You do know I will never leave you." His voice was serious, his eyes showing concern.

She sighed. "You can't prom…"

"I will never leave you," he repeated, emphatically, ignoring her attempt at a protestation.

She opened her mouth to speak again, trying to find some rationalization that he would buy, but couldn't find the words. Again, that unfamiliar expression crossed her face. It was gone in an instant as she walked to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He squeezed her back tightly.

"Thank you," she said, barely above a whisper. She lingered a moment longer before breaking contact. Booth followed her to the couch.

He plopped down, and turned the movie back on. "Back to your debunking, Scully."

She grinned, "I know what that means," and settled into his embrace.


	4. Part IV

**Notes:** I know... finally. It's been a while, and this part is short, but there is more to come! A big **thank you** to my beta Breanna... you probably wouldn't even have this little chapter if it wasn't for her!

Part IV

"She reminds me of someone."

"Who? Leia?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, maybe you've seen her in something else. Her parents are famous – Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher."

"No… It's not the actress so much as the character."

Suddenly, Booth burst out laughing.

Brennan rolled her eyes. "What now?"

"I know who she reminds you of," he replied, still chuckling.

"Well, are you going to share with the rest of us?"

"She's you, Bones."

She scrunched her nose. "Excuse me?"

"It's clear. You both think you can do everything by yourselves. You never want to admit you need help."

"That's not…" she paused. "Maybe it's because we don't actually need any help. For example, I'd be just fine on my own right now."

Booth feigned injury. "But you wouldn't be having nearly as much fun as you are if I wasn't here."

She had to agree with that one. Not that she'd let him know that. She shrugged. "I think I've had enough with comparisons to fictional characters today. First those Z-File people…"

"_X-Files_."

"Whatever. Now Leia." She yawned widely.

"Tired?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You think?"

"I see we've returned to being petulant."

She clicked off the TV. "Can we just go to bed now? I've had enough television for a lifetime."

"We?"

"What?"

"You said, 'can we go to bed'."

"I did? No, I didn't. Or did I? I'm starting to feel fuzzy again."

Booth reached out to feel her forehead. "You're still warm. You really should go to bed. Get a good night's sleep."

"Right." She stood and stretched, feeling tension in all of her muscles. "I hate being sick."

"Yeah, I know." He stood behind her and began kneading her shoulders.

"Oh my God," she sighed, half groaning. "That feels so good." She practically melted into him. "It's been far too long since I had…" she stopped abruptly, feeling the warmth of Booth behind her. "Did I say that aloud?"

"Yep." Booth was amazed he could get even that small word out, so distracted was he by Brennan's reaction to his touch.

"Wow." She paused, exhaling deeply. "Vegas?"

He chuckled and worked his fingers further down her back, watching goose bumps form on her arms. He brought his hands to a rest at her hips, and he fought the temptation to wrap his arms completed around her waist. The room suddenly seemed very warm and he wondered if he caught Brennan's fever.

"I think," he began, but his voice stuck. He cleared his throat and took a step back. "Let's try this again." Brennan turned around to face him. "I think I should go."

"I think you're probably right."

"I'll leave you the movies. I know you're just dying to watch the rest."

"Oh, of course," she grinned.

"There's three more after that… but they weren't any good, so I won't make you watch those. But I will quiz you on the rest of the second and all of the third."

Brennan saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Funny, Bones." Booth chuckled. "Funny bones. That was clever."

"Actually, no, it wasn't."

"Should I tuck you in?" Booth asked, raising his eyebrows.

Brennan narrowed her eyes at him. "I think you need to stay out of my bedroom."

"Yeah… yeah. I'm going."

She walked him to the door. "Are you… Do you… I probably won't be up for much tomorrow. It'll be easy for you to con me into watching more movies."

"Alright. It's a date." She raised an eyebrow. "A scheduled meeting?"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Glad you're feeling better."

"Yeah, me too."

Booth hesitated a moment and then moved in to give Brennan an awkward hug. He quickly retreated, but she called after him.

"Booth?"

"Yeah," he responded, turning back toward her.

"Thanks."

He gave her his best charm smile, and as a smile spread across her face he leaned in to plant a quick kiss on her lips.

"See you tomorrow," he whispered before he turned around and left.

Brennan raised a hand to her own forehead; fever the last thing on her mind.


	5. Part V

**Notes:** Thanks to Bre, my beta, even if she won't tell me what she thinks of the chapters until she can do so publically. Only one more part after this one. That actually makes me kinda sad. :( On another note... I hope everyone gets the "striped socks" reference... wink wink 

Part V

Brennan slept a deep, heavy sleep filled with dreams of gorgeous brown-eyed men in impeccable suits and striped socks.

When she awoke, she rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was a little after nine – she had slept for nearly 10 hours, and Booth was right; she did feel better.

Suddenly, her dreams came back to her. "Striped socks?" she wondered aloud. She shook her head, loose tendrils of hair clouding her vision.

She was definitely vastly improved from yesterday. She had some congestion and the remnants of a headache, but no fever. And though she wasn't exactly hungry, she wasn't nauseous by any means.

She got out of bed and padded into the living room. She figured Booth would have called by now, but her home phone had no messages and no incoming calls on the caller ID. She checked her cell phone, which read the same.

"Well, maybe he thinks I'm still sleeping," she rationalized.

She made herself some tea and toast and sat on the couch. She debated watching the rest of the _Star Wars_ movie, but it didn't seem right without Booth there. In fact, her entire apartment seemed oddly quiet. She shrugged off the feeling and picked up an anthropology journal and began reading.

An hour and a half later and Booth still hadn't called. Brennan pouted. "He said he was coming, right?" she said to the picture of Sue Black, smiling up from the journal. "He said it was a date. He wouldn't stand me up for a date. Not that it's a real date. It doesn't matter any way, I'm fine." She paused and rolled her eyes. "Said the woman whose talking to a picture of a Scottish anthropologist." She threw the journal onto her coffee table, leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, thoughts tumbling through her head.

Then it hit her. "Uh oh."

She tried calling his cell phone – no answer. His home phone – the same. This wasn't good. He was an FBI guy. He always answered his phone.

She showered, dressed, and was out the door in 20 minutes. Fifteen minutes later she pulled up at his house. She knocked on the door, but heard no response. "Booth?" she called out. "You in there?" She tried to peek in the glass of the door, but it was frosted and she only saw several blobs of darkness, which may or may not have been Booth.

She snorted in frustration and tried the doorknob. Locked. Of course. And she doubted Angela had a key to his place… She walked around to the side of the house and looked in the garage, spotting Booth's car. "Well, he must be here," she mused. She tried the door at the back of the house, off his kitchen, and found it open. She fought the urge to sing the hallelujah chorus.

"Booth?" she called out, making her way through the kitchen. She saw few signs of inhabitation, other than days-old dishes in the sink. She continued through the living room where she saw telltale signs of sickness: a box of tissues and a thermometer. This wasn't good.

"Booth? Where are you?" she called again, hearing a faint noise in response. She traveled up the stairs. She found him face down, shirtless, and lying on top of his covers.

She sighed. "I was afraid this would happen," she said, walking over to him. "You shouldn't have kissed me."

"It was worth it," he said, and rolled over. Brennan felt herself flush. "Besides, I spent the entire day with you. I seriously doubt one little kiss at the end of the night clinched it for me." He draped his arm over his eyes. "I never get sick."

"Yeah, well neither do I," Brennan responded. "But I'm feeling much better today, so that's good news for you."

"Marvelous," he muttered. "Took you long enough to get here."

"I was expecting a phone call!" she exclaimed, indignant.

Booth chuckled. "I'm just giving you a hard time."

"I see I'm not the only one who's petulant when sick."

"I'm like this all the time," he grinned.

"True." She stood by his bed, just staring at him. "I'm not exactly a caretaker. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do. Do you want, um, anything?"

"Nah. I've got everything I need right here."

Brennan looked around the room for a moment before she realized that he was referring to her. "I see you're also rather flirty when you're sick. Or when you're around sick people."

"What can I say, Bones? You bring out the best in me." She scoffed. "And you're fun to flirt with."

"I am?"

"Yeah, because half the time you don't even realize I'm doing it."

She crossed her arms in defiance. "I'm not blind, Booth." She walked around to the other side of the bed and sat heavily. "I may not know every pop culture reference you throw my way, and I may not be as psychologically in tune with humanity as you are, but I can recognize sexual compatibility when it's right in front of me."

Booth propped himself up on the headboard. "Compatibility?"

"What?" she whipped around to face him.

"You said 'sexual compatibility' – not 'sexual chemistry,' which is what I would have expected. So that means you think we're compatible."

She flushed slightly and crossed her arms again. "It means… I am aware… on a hormonal level we… appeal to each other."

Booth smirked. "I wish you were sick again."

"Why?"

"Because for some reason when you're sick, you let your guard down. It's like your physical defenses are down, so you allow some of your emotional defenses to drop, too."

"For example…"

"Yesterday, you told me I was hot. And you wanted to cuddle. And we talked about emotional stuff. And you let me kiss you."

"First of all, I didn't_ let_ you kiss me. It just… happened. Second of all, I had a fever. I was weak."

"So you're saying now that you don't have a fever, now that you're not weak," he sidled across the bed toward her, stopping just inches from her face, "you wouldn't let me kiss you?"

"Well…" She stared into his eyes, and Booth saw her features soften. "When's the last time you threw up?"

Booth groaned, flopping back onto the bed, dragging her down with him.

"What are you doing?" She fought against his embrace, but his arms were tight around her.

"I'm the sick one. It's my turn to cuddle." She relaxed almost instantly, and soon found herself lulled by his rhythmic breathing.

* * *

Whee! I love flirting. Too bad I don't get to experience much of it in my real life! Please - clicky the feedback! CLICKY! 


	6. Part VI

**Notes:** Ah, the final and longest chapter. I hope you enjoy it! More notes at the end...

Part VI

She woke two hours later, a heavy weight on her right side. She shifted slightly and Booth's eyes cracked open. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she replied back. He seemed to suddenly realize how close they were and backed off slightly, freeing Brennan's now asleep arm. She wiggled her fingers. "Thanks."

He smiled sleepily and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You know," she began and Booth could sense some little known fact was about to be revealed. "I read in an article that scientists have discovered that women have an extremely sensitive sense of smell and that male body odor – including sweat – plays a large part in attraction."

"So what are you trying to say?" he grinned.

"You need a shower," she grinned back.

"Oh, really!" He launched at her and began tickling, wondering how he had survived two years without knowing Temperance Brennan was ticklish. She giggled and wriggled beneath him until she was breathless.

"Say 'uncle'!"

"What?"

He sat back on his haunches. "Say 'uncle'? You've never heard that before? Russ never tickled you or wrestled you or anything like that?'

She looked thoughtful. "I guess not. Mostly he was pretty protective."

Booth shook his head. "Shame. Big brothers are supposed to pick on little sisters."

"You were an only child…"

"With lots of younger cousins," Booth interjected. He scooted of the bed. "I'm going to get in the shower now."

"Okay," Brennan replied, turning over, hugging the pillow to her. "You have the most comfortable bed. I could live here."

Booth shut the door he was rummaging through in surprise and turned to look at her.

Brennan rolled her eyes at his expression. "Not literally. Don't worry, I'm not trying to take away your bachelorhood."

"Who said I wanted to keep my bachelorhood?"

She sat up in the bed. That was not the response she had been expecting. "Are you saying you want to get married?"

"Is that a proposal?"

Brennan flushed so hard and fast Booth thought her head might explode. "No, I…" she stammered. "Are you saying you want to marry me?"

"Not exactly." Booth shook his head. "I never thought I'd be a life-long bachelor. I always expected some day I'd get married, have kids. Now I have Parker, but the marriage thing is still out there." He shrugged and went into the bathroom.

He had removed his shirt and was in the process of pulling down his sweats and boxers when the door flung open. He yanked them back up quickly, narrowly avoiding injury. "Damn it, Bones, ever hear of knocking?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"

He considered acting like he didn't understand her question, but he knew it would be fruitless. "Look, I'm a single man. I'm not ruling anyone out."

"What about Angela?"

"Angela's with Jack."

"You said anyone."

"Anyone single, Bones."

"What about Cam?" He shook his head. "Why not?" He shrugged again. "There must be a reason."

"It's just not there for us. I care about Cam. She's a good friend. But I'm not interested in having a relationship with her."

"Again," Brennan added.

"Yes, again," he sighed, rubbing at his temples. "Look, I have a headache and now I'm feeling nauseous. Can we discuss this some other time?"

Her features softened. "Yeah. I forgot you were sick."

"We really get into things when we're sick, don't we?" He offered her a lopsided grin.

"We get into things all of the time," she returned, also grinning.

She turned to leave, but paused, hand on the doorknob. "If I believed in marriage," she began, still facing the door, "would I be one of the women on the list of possibilities? Would you honestly want to marry me?"

"Sully wanted to marry you."

"Don't evade the question," she replied, her tone serious.

"It doesn't matter though, does it? Because you don't believe in marriage." His voice sounded sad and Brennan refused to take her eyes off the door. She couldn't face him right now, not with her guard completely down.

"It matters to me," she said in a voice so soft he hardly heard it.

"No," he responded just as softly. He saw her shoulders slump just an inch before he continued. "You wouldn't be one of the women on my list, Temperance," he paused, thinking _now or never_. "You'd be the only woman on my list."

Her back straightened again, then she froze.

"Even though you don't believe in marriage," he continued, "there still isn't anyone else on the list. There is no list. Just you."

There was a long moment of silence before she spoke. "If I'd said yes to Sully," she began, voice thick with emotion, "what…" she trailed off, unable to continue.

"I would have been happy for you, because I would have known you were loved, even if it was by someone other than me."

Of the number of times Booth had imagined this conversation taking place, never once did he think it would occur while he was half naked in his bathroom.

"Bones?"

"I'm processing," she replied quickly. "You get your shower. I'll… just leave now." And she left the bathroom without another word.

Booth took a long, hot shower to ease both his mind and muscles. He'd practically admitted to Brennan that he loved her and he knew she would have a hard time dealing with that. She didn't love easily. Of all the men she'd dated over the time they'd been working with each other, he suspected the only one she had loved was Michael – and he had hurt her. She may have loved Sully, had she given him the chance, but she hadn't. He, Angela, half the Jeffersonian and FBI staff suspected Brennan had chosen him over Sully. He'd just have to bide his time. She'd share what she was feeling when the time was right.

With that, he turned off the shower and stepped out. He dried himself and pulled on clean track pants and a t-shirt. He saw she wasn't in the bedroom, nor was she in the living room or kitchen. He thought she may have left, but he saw her car still parked in front of his house. He returned to the kitchen, where his gaze caught some movement in the backyard.

He rooted around in a kitchen drawer until he found what he was looking for, slipped the package into his pocket, and went outside.

Brennan was sitting on the swing of Parker's play set, twisting slightly left and right.

Booth flopped down on the grass several feet in front of her, watching the clouds. He stole a glance at her and saw she was now swinging, pumping her legs with determination. Booth returned his gaze skyward and closed his eyes. He heard the chains go slack as she jumped and felt the thump as she landed inches from his head. He sensed her eyes on him, but kept his closed.

"You've fallen in love with me."

He could read nothing in her tone. He exhaled slowly and responded with a calm, "Yep."

She laid down next to him. Eventually her hand found his, and she linked fingers, enjoying the fit.

"So what do we do now?" she asked, turning her head to face him.

"I don't know," he responded, opening his eyes and turning his own face to hers.

He held her gaze for minutes, wanting desperately to kiss her, but needing her to make the first move.

A gentle breeze rustled her hair and her beauty left him breathless. He forced his eyes skyward.

"What do you see, Bones?"

"Where?" she asked, looking up.

He raised their joined hands to gesture at the sky. "In the clouds."

"Mostly cumulus."

He groaned. "Use your imagination. See that one?" He used his free hand to point to a set. "Kind of looks like a rabbit. See the ears? The fluffy tail?"

She squinted. "I guess. People do this regularly?"

"Yeah. They find it relaxing. Parker loves it."

"But they don't stay," she said, pointing to the rabbit, which in the breeze had turned into something more like bunny road kill.

"That's true." He turned back to look at her, curling onto his side. "But wouldn't you rather have a moment of beauty than none at all?" She, too, brought her gaze down and turned to face him.

"Wouldn't you rather have had fifteen years with your parents than none at all?" He paused as he let this sink in. "Wouldn't you rather let yourself love someone than always wonder 'what if'?"

His words took effect. She leaned forward and brought her lips to his. In seconds, he had deepened the kiss, pulling her onto her stomach, arms wrapped around her waist.

Somewhere between seconds and an eternity, she pulled back, resting her head on his shoulder.

He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small box, which he jiggled by her ear.

She turned to look at the source of the rattling and saw a wrapped present. "What's that for?"

"Happy birthday," he said with a grin. "I remembered just before I came out here."

"It's not…" she paused. "Wait. What's the date?"

"August 19th."

"Oh. It is my birthday.

"You're hopeless," Booth replied, still grinning. "Open it." He waggled the box again.

The both sat up as she tore into the paper. She opened the box and pulled out a silver charm bracelet. There were two charms affixed: a heart engraved with her initials and a breathtakingly familiar small silver dolphin.

"It's from the same place your dad got your mom's," Booth added quietly as she examined the charm.

"It's beautiful."

He took the bracelet and clasped it on her wrist. "I figured it could kind of become a tradition – giving you a charm for special occasions."

She held the bracelet up to the sun and watched it sparkle. "I love you."

"I'm glad. I was a little worried. I know you like jewelry, but it's hard to… Wait a minute. Did you say you love the bracelet or…" he trailed off.

She kissed him softly. "I love you."

He threw his arms around her, bringing them both back down to the ground. They resumed their positions, side-by-side on the ground, hands clasped.

Brennan pointed to a cloud. "That one looks like a scapula."

Booth leaned over and kissed her temple. "That's my Bones."

"I still don't know what we're supposed to do now," she said.

"Neither do I, but we'll just take it one day at a time."

"And I still don't want to get married."

"I know." He smiled. "I guess we'll just have to live in sin."

A wide smile broke out on her face. "That sounds way more fun than marriage," she said, in a sultry tone he'd never heard before.

Goosebumps formed on his arms. "You know what?" he asked right before flinging her on her back and kissing her passionately.

"What?" Brennan asked when she caught her breath.

"We might not know how to handle this whole being in love thing," he paused, running his hand down her side, coming to rest at the curve of her hips. "But I think we're going to have a lot of fun figuring it out."

She smiled beneath him and he kissed her again.

"I just have one question." Brennan pushed him back.

"What?" he asked, warily.

"Just how sick are you feeling?"

"I'm at about 90 percent."

"Good. Because I would really like to get to know that bed of yours a lot better." She squirmed out from beneath him and raced for the house, Booth just steps behind.

**The End**

* * *

Well, I really do hope you enjoyed the ending. I fiddled with a couple different versions and went with this... A big thanks to Bre for being my beta, and threatening me with everything she could think of to keep me writing. On another note, I have no idea when Bones' birthday is. I just picked an arbitrary date. Please - clicky the feedback! I try to respond individually to everyone who gives me feedback. My apologies if I've missed anyone!!

Laura


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